All the Wrong Places
by The Musical Jedi
Summary: Based on the Star Tours ride at Disney World.  FINE


**Title:** All the Wrong Places

**Author:** The Musical Jedi

**Characters:** Rex from _Star Tours_ at Disney World

**Genre;** Humor

**Notes:** Written for the CT Write/Rewrite Contest

**Disclaimer:** I don't anything related to Star Wars or, in this case, Disney. I also make no money, being a poor student. Thanks for the sandbox; I always enjoy getting to play with your toys, O Mighty Flanneled One.

---

I knew it was going to be a bad day because I broke my favorite caf mug that morning.

Now, I know what you're thinking. What the hell does a droid need with a caf mug? I mean, I can't drink the stuff, right? Well, I still liked the thing. Especially because it creeped out my boss at Star Tours when he'd see me carrying it around. It was a pearly white with a picture of Alderaan on the side, all blue and white like it was before it got blown up by the Imps, with the saying _Looking for love in Alderaan places_ written really neat-like on the side. Not to mention the fact it went from tourist junk to irreplaceable in one blaze of green laser fire from that space-worthy beach ball. I won't lie to you, though, I was mostly swayed by that fine piece of chrome running the stand. She had the nicest control panel I've seen in a long time, especially in an older model. I would have loved to connect I/O ports with her, I'll tell you.

But that's not the point. The point is I broke the kriffing mug, which of course put me in a bad mood. Not to mention the fact that some idiot let those two other droids into the terminal again. I don't know where they got off, but if I hear on more time about the Rebellion and that Princess Bunhead again, I'm going to remove that prissy droid's power supply, or at least the vocoder that gives him that hideous voice. At least I can ignore that other one, tootling away like he's in the Coruscanti Symphonic Orchestra.

Anyway, I'm in the shuttle like normal, waiting for the guests to get in and settled so we can take off. It was a crazier looking crowd than normal too. Some of them had shirts as red as those fancy lobstrata they serve in those upscale establishments they won't let droids into, or funny black hairpieces that look like Bunhead's favorite fashion tips gone wrong. A few of them even came in wearing Jedi robes, even though it didn't take a khaki-robbed hippy to figure out they didn't have a midichlorian to share between the lot of them.

I was thinking at that point I needed to find myself another job.

So of course, I'm setting the scene, telling them all about the Endor moon and how fantastic the view is and you'll never get another experience like it (unless you want to shell out some more credits and take another Star Tours trip), when all of a sudden I get diverted down the wrong tunnel into the maintenance yard. Now I want you to know, I've been doing this job a long time, and the tunnel system isn't that complex. I knew as soon as the turn was made that this isn't what I wanted to do at all. Let's just say the trip just got a lot more interesting for this crowd. At least they weren't being scammed like all the others.

I was dodging and weaving through the yard, trying to keep my measly little shuttle from being crunched into a pellet, when I finally made it out into open space not a moment too soon. I could hear everyone chattering in the back too, enjoying themselves. Almost made me want to pass out popcorae and show a movie for them, because apparently it wasn't thrilling enough.

At least from here I could get to Endor. You'd think we'd be out of the woods, or I guess in this case, well on our way to the woods. No, clearly the Force or the Maker or whatever poodoo you believe in had other plans. I pull out of hyperspace to find myself smack dab in an asteroid field. First thought that comes to my mind is _Where the hell is Endor?_ I must have overshot it since I didn't leave from my normal point. But surely I wasn't _that_ far away!

Some of the guests are starting to get jittery, and I can't say I blame them. Especially, mind you, when we slam into one of the larger comets. It's real pretty inside, I'll give you that, but it doesn't do anything for my circuits, trying not to smash up the shuttle and find an exit out of this Maker-forsaken place. I got the ship out mostly intact, which I suppose says something for my flying skills, but the way those people were gasping and yelling, you'd think we'd destroyed the life-support system and been set adrift in the Rishi Maze.

I was really wishing I could drink some caf from my blasted mug then. Caf always seems to make my boss a little calmer.

Then the Imps showed up.

Now, I just want to say, I got nothing against Imps in general. In a theoretically way, you might say. But when they latch onto my ship with a Force-be-damned tractor beam, I have a few issues with them and their methods, like any well-oiled droid ought to. I mean, it's my Maker-given right, isn't it? It's not like we droids can enjoy fine food or a nice evening at the theater (mostly because they won't let us in). But this Star Destroyer shows up like it's got some kind of superior right to the skies, and then has the nerve to snag us in its tractor!

At this point I start to lose my cool. I made the Kessel Run in fourteen and a half parsecs, surely a Star Destroyer can't be that much of a challenge. Of course, I couldn't shake the tractor beam. All of a sudden, this little ship appears out of nowhere, skimming the Destroyer. I couldn't believe my light sensors! He buzzed the command deck, bold as brassinium, before flipping around and taking out the tractor beam's generator with one set of green hyphenated laser blasts. I've seen a lot of things in my time, but nothing quite like that.

With a shudder, our little ship was off, following this ship to see where it came from. It wasn't too long when we came on a whole fleet – Rebels by their ships' insignias. Well, my passengers have really had it by now. Most of them were hooting and hollering. Those who weren't speculated whether any of the big names – Skywalker, Organa, Solo, or Mothma – were hanging around for this initiative. I wanted to tell them that heroes like that probably weren't nearby. Too much risk of death for their fleshy hides and all.

I've flow a few combat missions in my time, mostly in the name of spice and credits usually underwritten by a Hutt of some stench, and my gears were still in a bind from the nerve of that Destroyer. I don't know why they're installed on a touring boat, but I certainly got those laser guns out and dusted them off for the Star Tours corporation. I don't know how many of those TIEs I nailed before we got caught in the wash of a huge explosion – looks like the Rebels got that monstrosity of a space station, just like they did the first one.

My light sensors even got a little fuzzy around the edges when I realized that I had helped to blow that thing up.

It was then I realized that we'd spent almost as much time as we were supposed to on Endor, and I figured these guests probably had other big holiday plans to attend to. I fired up the hyperdrive and pointed us back home, fortunately without any other incidents this time.

Of course, we almost got fragged by a fuel truck in the maintenance yard, but that seems almost insignificant compared to everything else.

I can tell by the way you're looking at me that you don't believe my story. Well, it's up to you, I suppose, but how else would you explain how I ended up on this dust ball, hankering for employment? My boss sure didn't let me fly another speeder for Space Tours, I'll tell you that much, and I'd really rather not fly for the Hutts again. Everything gets all slimy and smelly. Hard for a droid to keep himself looking presentable-like.

By they way, you don't happen to know somewhere I could replace my mug, do you?


End file.
